


And Kissed Me Till The Morning Light

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, F/F, Family, Family Feels, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Painting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sister/Sister Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa and Andromeda Black have always been so much more than sisters; they are certain that nothing will ever tear them apart, not even the lingering fever that threatens to claim Narcissa’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Kissed Me Till The Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/gifts).



“Sit still, Cissy.”   
  
It cost Narcissa great effort not to smile. She was just too beautiful, her sister, with her tangled mass of dark hair so much like Mother’s, with an expression of fierce concentration upon her face and colour splattered all over her robes and skin as though it were a part of her. It  _was_  a part of her, as who would Andy be without her colours? Who would she be without her art, without her paintings, each a masterpiece, each telling a tale of such passion, such devotion and such love? She was so lost within her work that she scarcely looked up from her canvas, except to chastise Narcissa gently for having shifted in her seat as if each movement was of importance, as if each movement could influence the result.   
  
Narcissa had always admired Andromeda for her talent, had admired her so beyond belief and admired her still. She admired her sister who was so gifted, admired her not only for her art but also her strength, her endless strength… How many times had Narcissa wished to one day be as strong as her, as strong as Andy, her star, who was so gentle and yet so passionate, so fierce and so full of love… Who meant everything to her. Perhaps she had envied her, too, in times she had allowed foolish emotions, foolish thoughts, to assume control, in times she had been at her weakest. Perhaps she had envied her, her sister, who seemed so perfect to her, so beyond perfect, yet who had her own struggles, struggles Narcissa had been oblivious to.   
  
But these times were long gone. Andromeda had long since found her place amongst her family and was happy, happier than she had ever been before, and Narcissa had long since banished such images from her mind, as they were atrocious, nothing but folly. She loved her, had always loved her more than words could express, would love her until the end of her life and beyond, more than anyone else in this world. Her sister was her rock, her confidante, her best friend and so much more than this, so much more than her sister… She loved her. And Andy loved her back. Only together they would be strong, only together they would be capable of facing the world, of dispelling the darkness from their lives and stepping into the light. Only together they were whole.   
  
When Andy lowered her brush at last, she smiled, smiled with such satisfaction and such pride that Narcissa felt a rush of love, a fresh wave of affection for her sweet sister and rose from her chair, gingerly, as her legs were still aching, tender from injuries long past and yet so present. She rose, stepped forward to look at the finished work, trembled as she caught sight of it, trembled and nearly gasped for air… There they were, Narcissa and Andromeda both, born from the rarest, the most precious of colours, a present from Mother and Father. There they were, holding hands and looking at each other, looking at each other with such affection, smiling… It felt as though she were looking into the mirror, as though she were looking at her, at  _their_ , own reflection and not a painting… Perfect. It was perfect, truly.   
  
Narcissa wanted to speak, opened her mouth and yet no sound would come from her lips; she was at loss of words, overwhelmed by what she saw, overwhelmed by what her sister had created. Andy, too, trembled, seemed exhausted, elated all at once, was smiling still as she wrapped her arms about her waist, pulling her so close to her into a tight embrace.   
  
“You are my muse,  _ma fleur,_ ” she whispered into her ear, placing a brief yet gentle kiss upon her brow, and then another one, another one upon her cheek before moving on to her lips, lingering there for a moment, a moment in which time seemed to stand still. To be so close to her, to take in her sweet, familiar scent, and to taste her… Narcissa knew no greater feeling than to taste her, to feel her… Than to allow their bodies to melt together as one. Why should she care about the danger, why should she care about anything if only she could be with her, if only she could be with her Andy? “My art would be nothing without you. It is yours.”  
  
Minutes seemed to pass and Narcissa could scarcely process her sister’s words, seemed paralysed, incapable of taking her eyes off what had proved to be Andromeda’s true masterpiece. How beautiful it must be for her, she thought so suddenly, to express herself through her painting, to pour her emotions, her entire soul into her work, and to express herself…   
  
Andy’s art and Mother’s music, her fingers so rapidly flying over the piano, becoming one with the keys and creating the most beautiful of melodies, melodies that touched them all so beyond belief, that brought tears to their eyes… They both had their own language, their sweet language, the purest of all that meant so much more than words.   
  
With a deep sigh, Narcissa collapsed against her sister’s body for a moment, turned away from the painting and sighed once more, quietly, sadly. She, too, had once known how to express herself in silence, in a language that meant so much more… She, too, had once mastered an art so fine, so delicate… To lose herself in dance, to focus on nothing but the movement of her body, to dance until she became light-headed, until her limbs began to bleed… Never would she experience anything similar again, never would she dance again, never…   
  
It seemed too hard to accept her fate at times, so hard to remember and to smile, so hard to realise, to truly process… A curse most foul, the darkest of magic, by a man who pledged it in an attempt to destroy her, who had nearly succeeded. Still Narcissa dreamed of him, still she found herself within the cellar’s cold, eerie stone walls at night, still she screamed… Still she bore the marks on her body, and her soul.   
  
“You mustn’t lose hope,” Andy spoke, as though she had read her mind. Perhaps she had... They knew each other, knew each other so very well, understood one another without words… Perhaps she had. How sweet she was, her star, and yet she, too, knew that it wasn’t the truth, that her words were nothing but soothing lies… She wouldn’t dance again, would never dance again. How could she, if it was so difficult to walk, so difficult to breathe, if her legs, her lungs…? How could she? And yet. Yet she smiled, smiled for her sister, smiled for Andy. “One day you will dance again, Cissy. I know it. You mustn’t lose hope…”   
  
Once more she kissed her forehead, started to pull back as though to release her from her arms yet her movements froze and she frowned, frowned with sudden concern. “Narcissa. You’re fevered.”   
  
Impossible. She couldn’t possibly… Wouldn’t she have known, wouldn’t she have sensed? Narcissa had merely been tired, weary from another sleepless night, she couldn’t… Only now, now that the sweet elation caused by her sister’s present faded, she realised, realised that it was not exhaustion that weakened her so… It was the fever. The fever had returned. Of course Andy had been the first to notice. She had always noticed, had sat by her bedside for hours, days, weeks… Of course she had noticed, was looking at her now, looking at her with such worry, the fright, the terror written upon her face... The fever had returned.   
  


*

  
  
Each day was a torment. Each day was a torment, each day was a struggle, a struggle for air, a struggle for life… The fever had returned, had taken hold of her so suddenly, so mercilessly… At first they had hoped that it would be brief, brief like the others, that soon it would be over… But no. No, this was different, this was not brief. This would not be over soon.   
  
Andy slept by her side since the first night, refusing to leave the bedroom until their parents so gently forced her into rest, the unspoken promise that they would stay, that they would inform her should Narcissa be in need of her sister, glistening within their eyes.   
  
Andy slept by her side since the first night, and she had saved her, had saved her, would always save her… How tightly she wrapped her arms about Narcissa’s trembling, spasming body when once more a coughing fit pulled her so cruelly from her sleep, when once more she did not recognise her, did not recognise her own sister, how gentle she was, would always be. How gentle she was and yet how strong, her grip so firm but also tender, careful enough in order not to cause her any further pain.   
  
Once more Narcissa wished so desperately to possess her sister’s strength, to be able to smile despite the pain, to smile as Andy had smiled at her to give her hope in times she had needed it the most. She wished so desperately to be strong, to be strong enough to soothe her family, to ensure them that she would be all right, that everything would be all right, to take the worry from their eyes… Didn’t they suffer, too? Didn’t it hurt them, too, to see her in a state like this, to be so helpless, so… Wasn’t it her duty to be strong, to at least force her mind to be strong if her body was so useless, so weak? Wasn’t it her duty?   
  
But how could she? How could Narcissa smile, how could she hope when she saw Mother’s tear-stained eyes and Father’s knuckles, sore and bleeding from punching the wall in his unspoken rage and sorrow? How could she hope, when she noticed so very well that Andy, her Andy, could scarcely stand to look at her, too pained by her concern, by what had become of her sister, too afraid for her life and yet desperate to keep her composure? How could she… How could she hope, how could she smile? How could she hope if they did not?   
  
“She is fading fast,” she heard Andromeda whisper to Mother one night, a week, perhaps, after the fever had come to claim her once more. Andy spoke, her voice tear-choked, spoke quietly, surely in the belief that her sister was asleep at last, spoke, did not realise that she could hear them, that she could hear everything… “Her breathing… The fever… What if we can’t save her this time, _Maman_? What if she…”  
  
Andy slept by her side since the first night. She never left her, never turned away, never let go… She kissed her, kissed her over and over and cared not whether Mother would see them, cared not that their parents were so close… She kissed her, and her kisses alone would cause the hope to return to Narcissa, would cause her to believe what seemed so impossible to be believed. Her kisses tasted of tears. How could they ever love anyone but each other? How…? It seemed as though they were destined for each other, as though it was their fate to remain together, to remain one, to be separated only by death…   
  
Death. Death had become her constant companion, was lingering close, so… No. No, she couldn’t, she couldn’t give in, not again! She couldn’t give in, not when her family, her sister needed her so… She could not leave them, not yet. She could not. And yet with every day passing it seemed to become harder to refuse. Her lungs were failing, decreasing with every moment, and the fever… The fever deprived her of everything, any remaining strength. Narcissa was no longer capable of sitting up in her bed, too weak to raise her head. and yet her sister forced her to, forced her to sit even in her sleep, heavily supporting her body with pillows and not allowing her to collapse lower as otherwise she would suffocate, be incapable of drawing breath, as otherwise the pain would grow beyond endurance. In the rare moments Narcissa slept, Andromeda would wake, would so gently cleanse her when once more she fell into a coughing fit, when once more blood came emerging from her throat, nearly choking her, staining her skin, her bed sheets… She would do anything, anything at all, and each second was a torment to them both. She could not… She could not leave her… If she surrendered… Then Andy would surrender, too.   
  
It was like then. It was like then, it was like… He had aimed to destroy her. The man who had done this to her, who had inflicted such wounds on her, who had violated her in the most terrifying ways… He had aimed to destroy her. And perhaps he had succeeded after all. Perhaps now, nearly two years later…   
  
It all had gone too fast. Her parents had never approved of her walks alone in the darkness and neither had Andy, would at times insist on joining her, casually, never speaking out the true reason why but of course Narcissa knew, was touched deeply by the concerned affection she could see glisten within her sister’s eyes. And so they walked together, hand in hand, arm in arm where no one would see them, lying down in the grass in warm summer nights and looking up at the stars, silently, as they had done as girls.   
  
They wouldn’t understand if they knew. None of them would understand that they were so much more, so much more than sisters, so much more than family… None of them would understand that they were everything, that only together they could live, truly. But they wouldn’t know. No one would know, no one would ever know… If they were to separate them, to tear them apart, if… No. They wouldn’t worry, needn’t worry… No one would know, and they wouldn’t be apart. Never would they be apart, would remain together as they had vowed countless times before. They needn’t worry.   
  
It all had gone too fast. Narcissa had walked alone that night, kissing her sleeping sister good night and slipping out of the room unheard, intending to return after no longer than an hour… But she hadn’t. It all had gone too fast, the sudden sharp pain in her legs, the foul smell that took her breath away… Unconsciousness came for her soon after and when she awoke…   
  
Still, the memories pained her. Still she dared not speak out the words, dared not think, still the man who had done this to her was faceless and yet, yet would haunt her, haunt her always. He had pushed her down the abysses of hell, had fed her to the flames and savoured her screams as he watched her burn, slowly… He had violated her, violated her in the worst possible way, had cursed her with curses darker than any she had ever known, had injured her so beyond belief… And it had been for nothing but his own pleasure, to satisfy his cruel fantasies, to… To take away the use of her legs, to damage her lungs, to inflict on her wounds, countless wounds, many of them healed and many remaining, physical, emotional… It had been for nothing. Had he been waiting for her? Had he been waiting for her to cross his path, had he watched her, had he seen, intended to extort her parents for money, in exchange for their daughter’s life? Life… What kind of life would it have become, should he ever release her? What would remain of her?  
  
Countless times had she prayed for redemption, prayed that Death would take her, release her… But it hadn’t. Instead it had been Father, Father who was furious, heavily breathing, Father whom her weary eyes scarcely recognised yet who looked as though he had not slept for days, as though he had left the house so long ago and never returned…   
  
It all had gone too fast. If she lived through the night she would recover, the Healers spoke when Father had brought her to hospital the night he had found her, saved her, and she had. Narcissa had lived, had recovered, yet never fully, never truly. She had recovered after weeks, months of such unspeakable agony… They all had suffered, suffered so because of her but smiled at her, whispered to her, comforted her when once again she woke from a nightmare, did not recognise…They all had suffered.   
  
How ashamed she had been at first, so ashamed of her weakness, ashamed of looking at her parents who were so tired and yet here, always here, ashamed of looking at her sister and seeing such guilt within her expression, such endless guilt… How ashamed had she been of being dependent on such care, of… How ashamed she had been. But they had been there, had always been there, looked at her with the same love, the same burning affection, even now, and only because of them Narcissa had recovered. Only because of them she lived.   
  
Andromeda had never forgiven herself, Narcissa knew, blamed herself still for what had happened, but how could it possibly have been her fault? How could she possibly be to blame if Narcissa had left in secret, if… How could it possibly have been her fault? Even if they had been together, even if she would have attempted to protect her, to protect her flower, her little sister… Would it have been her, then? Would he have taken her, would he have taken Andy, or perhaps them both? Would it…? Narcissa was glad, so glad that it had not been Andy, that Andy had been safe… But she had never forgiven herself. Still managed to despise herself at times, as though she were to blame for what had happened.   
  
Wasn’t it all that mattered, however, that she lived? That Narcissa lived, and that she had learned to live with the consequences of her ordeal? If she lived, if she could be with her, with her Andy, why should she care about her foolish desire to dance, why should she care about her fever episodes, about the potions her condition forced her to take, day by day? Why should she care, if she lived, if her parents, if her Andy were right beside her? She lived.   
  
But how much longer would they be able to go on? How much longer until they would break beneath the burden, until  _she_  would break? Perhaps this was the end, perhaps she would not recover again, perhaps the fever would claim her life at last, perhaps…   
  
No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t! Hadn’t she heard her sister whisper to her, whisper to her over and over, so quietly begging her to be strong, begging her to stay, and not to give in? It would mean her death, too, if she left… It would mean Andy’s death, too… She would hold on, needed to hold on! But she was so tired…   
  
Narcissa woke with a gasp, another coughing fit, more despairing struggles for air… Tears came streaming down her cheeks even as Andy soothed her, even as she kissed her fevered brow, rocking her gently in her arms. Tears came streaming down her cheeks even as her body ceased to shake with her sobs, sobs close to hysteria, even as she glanced at the portrait , the beautiful portrait her sister had painted for her, gifted to her merely days before and attached to the wall opposite of the bed so they would always see it… How happy they had been, then.   
  
Happy. Had they ever been happy? It seemed like nothing but a distant memory now that they stood together in Andy’s room, holding each other in a tight embrace, tears of love glistening within their eyes as they looked at the painting together, Andromeda’s masterpiece, the finest art Narcissa had ever seen, happy, so incredibly happy. Had they ever been happy, truly? Had…   
  
How they smiled. How they smiled, their reflections, painted in oil and oblivious to any trouble, to any sorrow, having eyes only for one another. If only it were so easy… Her muse. Narcissa had been her sister’s muse, she had been… If only it were so easy. If only they, too, were free of cares, of agony, if only it were so easy, if only… She had been her muse.   
  
“Is this the end,  _mon étoile?_ ” Narcissa asked, so quietly, so hoarsely that her own voice seemed strange to her. The pressure on her chest, the dizziness… How could she stand it any longer, how could she stand any of it? She could not give in, not yet… And still… Still… “Is this the end? Am I-…”   
  
She broke off. Andy would not respond. She, too, seemed lost in the sight of her work for a moment, seemed to be deep in thought… She, too, was crying, could barely keep her body from collapsing against the pillows as she turned her head, as once more she kissed her, kissed her as though to kiss her good-bye, their tears mingling together as their lips touched. She, too, was barely able to speak.   
  
“I will save you,” Andy whispered into her ear then, her hands, her voice trembling so beyond belief. “I promise you,  _ma fleur_. I will save you. I will find a way… I will save you. I will save you. This is not the end…”  
  
This was not the end. Nothing would ever tear them apart, nothing at all, no fever, no… This was not the end. Andromeda stroked her hair so gently, still whispered to her, murmured tender words of comfort, quiet promises… Even through the veil of tears, Narcissa could see the determination within her eyes, the grim determination to save her, to fight and never surrender, to never lose hope.   
  
“This is not the end…” Andy breathed, her voice fading with every syllable. “You won’t leave me, Cissy, you can’t… You won’t leave me, do you understand? You won’t leave me for many years… This is not the end; I’ll save you… And you will dance again. You will dance again like you did before…”  
  
She broke off for a moment, seemed so deeply touched by her own words, seemed to struggle so against her emotion, so desperate to force herself to hope, to smile… Narcissa knew — of course she knew — had merely to glance at her sister and see what she was so despairing to hide. Of course she knew. How heavy her eyelids had become. How weary she was, so suddenly… Andy, her beautiful Andy, who, too, was so weakened, so tired… But still… Still, Andy continued, still she spoke, spoke as though to calm them both, as though to quietly soothe into sleep, to assure her that it would be all right, that everything would be all right.   
  
“It will be like before… I shall paint while you dance for me… My flower, my muse… My everything… You will dance for me, won’t you? Won’t you, Cissy? Promise me… Promise me that you will dance for me…”   
  
_My everything._  
  
If only she could look at her. If only she were capable of opening her eyes once more, only once more, of once more looking at her, looking at her Andy… Narcissa felt her heart break as she listened to her sister’s words, as she spoke, soothingly at first and then so desperately, so pleadingly, no longer capable of suppressing her sobs. She felt her heart break, wanted to… No. She couldn’t. Not anymore. She couldn’t… Everything, her everything… Andy was her everything, too, was so much more than... Narcissa couldn’t open her eyes… Instead she collapsed against her body and Andromeda allowed it to happen, cradled her so carefully as though she were afraid she might break, as though she were a child, held her and promised silently that she would never let go.   
  
“Promise me that you will dance for me,” Andromeda whispered, again, brushing a lock of hair from her face and resting her hand upon her cheek then, caressing her skin, her lips, so tenderly… Andy… Her everything… Her… She could not leave her behind… “Promise me, Cissy…”  
  
“I promise, Andy,” Narcissa murmured, slowly fading into sleep within her sister’s arms. She was safe now.


End file.
